El Acosador Tomate
by Coelacanthic
Summary: Being stalked isn't exactly high on Florida's favorites list. Being stalked by the pedophile Spain is even less desirable. But getting rid of the tomato-obsessed idiot forces the state to resort to drastic measures...
1. Chapter 1

**El Acosador Tomate**

Florida was sick and tired of Spain popping up everywhere he went. He felt like that one chick with the lamb. If the lamb was a pedophile/stalker.

When Florida got up in the morning and stumbled his way into the bathroom, there was Spain, sitting on the sink counter and handing him his toothbrush.

_"Buenos dias, Florida," he said, smiling and shoving the toothbrush in the state's mouth._

_ "Get out of my bathroom you STALKER!"Florida shouted, spitting out the dental instrument and trying to shove the Spaniard out of the bathroom. It wasn't easy, what with the older nation's strength and desire to comment on and touch Florida's bare chest._

It wasn't the best way to start the morning.

Later, when Florida headed out to his state meeting, he found the tomato-loving foreigner in his car, curled up on the backseat.

_Spain was woken up by a distinct lack of sun. Blinking his eyes open, he discovered the cause of this was none other than Florida, who was peering through the window with the most adorable dumbfounded look on his face._

_ "Hola, Florida."_

_ "How the f*** did you get in my car?"_

_ "A coat hanger. But never mind that. You look so cute with the light framing you like that! Would you like some churros?"_

_ Florida, who had been fumbling to open the door, hesitated. Churros? Churros…_

_ "No!" thought Florida, shaking his head. "Do not be swayed by the pastries!"_

_ With that, the state yanked open his car door and hauled the trespasser out. Then, he jumped in the front seat and hit the gas, driving as far away from Spain as fast as he could go. (Which was why he got a speeding ticket)_

Well, at least he somehow managed to get to the meeting on time.

But the worst thing happened when Florida went out to lunch after his meeting.

_The doorbell jingled as Florida stepped into the McDonald's. He would never tell anyone, but he loved this place. Luckily, the restaurant wasn't so crowded, so he was able to get to the front of the line quickly. However, when the cashier turned around, Florida wished it was very, very crowded._

"_Bienvenido a McDonald's, may I- Florida!" Upon recognizing the state, Spain flung his arms wide and grinned, making Florida hate his secret food love even more. "You showed up just in time, niño! I am about to take my break!" With that, Spain threw off his apron, clocked out, and hopped over the counter. He then ran out of the fast-food chain with Florida in tow, ignoring the angry shouts of the customers in line and the manger._

"_Where are you taking me? How-WHY- the hell did you get a job at McDonald's _here_? What is wrong with you? When did you become such a freak?", Florida whisper-yelled, trying vainly to not draw attention to the pair._

_Spain slowed to a leisurely stroll. "Very good, La Florida, but you are missing a 'who' question. The answers are, in order: it's a surprise, I asked the manager nicely because I wanted to be close to you~, nothing; everything's better in the Sunshine State!, and I've always been like this! You loved it when you were little, if I recall… Now I have a 'who' question for you~"._

_Turning, the elder nation took Florida's face in his hands. The state, who had frozen during Spain's speech, now shuddered._

"_Who," Spain murmured, putting his face close to Florida's, "invented the telephone?"_

"…**WTF!**_"._

_Florida shoved the Spaniard away as hard as he could and ran back to his house as fast as his legs could carry him._

That guy needed help.

But, more importantly, that guy needed to stay away from Florida. And the Sunshine state knew exactly how to make that happen.

He bought a dog.


	2. Chapter 2

**El Acosador Tomate, pt 2**

A pitbull, strong, sturdy, tawny-colored with white patches, and absolutely gorgeous. Honestly, when Florida looked into her heart-melting golden eyes, he couldn't see why anyone would fear her.

Luckily, Spain was stupid and would run away once he saw the teeth and slavering jaws. Now, there was only one thing to do.

He named the dog Miami.

No, no wait, that wasn't the one thing he needed to do!

_Wait. _That was what he needed to do. And, as it happened, he didn't have much of it to do, because when Florida came home from the shelter he found Spain in his kitchen, standing at the stove and- _singing?_

"_¡España, Es-pa-ña! ¡España, Es-pa-ña! ¡España, Es-¡Buenos Tardes, La Florida!"_

Florida flinched. How he hated that name! "The Flower". How girly! Why couldn't he have a cool name, like, Mexico?

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Florida saw Spain had noticed Miami, and was eyeing the dog a bit apprehensively. Florida took his chance.

"Sic 'em," he said to Miami, and his already-faithful pooch growled fiercely and chased "_España_" out of the house.

_Good dog, _Florida thought to himself, and stood in the doorway to admire the success of his cleverly thought out pla- _huh?_

_Spain was sitting on Florida's front porch, playing with his dog._

"_¿Quien es una perra bueno? __¡Tu ères, tu ères!" _Spain cooed to Miami, who promptly fell asleep.

Florida face-palmed.

Spain stood up and gently pulled his former colony away from the door frame he was now banging his head against. Slowly, he repositioned Florida so he held the state around his waist.

Florida looked up at him, his chocolatey-brown eyes moving to narrow woth defeat as he gazed at his former "older brother".

"You win, _España_. _Tu eres el ganador,_" he said to Spain's shoes. The Spaniard's grip on Florida's waist tightened, and the peninsula state's heartbeat to quicken as Spain rested his head on Florida's shoulder.

"You speak my language so prettily," Spain murmured, his breath hot on Florida's ear once again. "Indeed, a lot about you is pretty. Your clothes, however, they take away from your, _natural beauty_," the elder of the two frowned at the younger's formal dress shirt, and then began to undo the buttons. Florida squeaked in protest.

"Wha- wha- what are you doing?" The quaver in Florida's voice betrayed his fear. "Why are you undressing me? On my front porch, no less!"

Spain looked around, taking in Florida's front yard in the fading afternoon light, the two gaping residents and their dog on the sidewalk, and lastly the crimson spreading across the Sunshine state's face and neck.

"Your blushing makes you look even cuter," smirked Spain, reaching over Florida's shoulder to open the door, nearly making the state leaning on it fall on his back. Spain caught him quickly and turned him around so that their positions were now mirrored on the other side of the now-closed door. When the state opened his mouth –to protest more, no doubt- Spain leaned in, pressing his lips to the younger's mouth. Florida hesitated, but as Spain deepened the kiss, he shifted and angled his head better for Spain. Spain allowed his tongue to slip into his mouth, and resumed taking off Florida's shirt while Florida-

What the **HELL **was Florida doing? This was _Spain_. This was _Spain, _and he was f***ing Florida of the damn United States of America! He was-

Spain detached his lips from Florida's and began kissing his way down the flower's now-bare chest, leaving red marks on the skin and causing the state to moan as he did so.

Florida was melting in Spain's arms.

Man, America was going to kill him for being an uke, and to _Spain_, of all people. The sad part was, though, he didn't really care so much right now.

Spain tugged on one of Florida's belt loops. "Should we take this to the bedroom, _mi amor?_" Florida was about to nod when the two heard a loud ringing sound.

Spain cursed and pilled his phone from his pocket, looking at the caller ID and then turning to face Florida with a woeful expression.

"I must go, _mi amor_," he said, and with out further explanation walked out the door.

Florida sank to his knees. Yeah, his plan had pretty much failed.

_Puerto Rico estaba enfermo y cansado de España le seguía a todas partes._

* * *

><p><em><em>**Author's Note:**

****Florida is such a pansy in this. C: But, anyways, this is my Florida OC, whom I imagine to be something like 5 foot 2, with short black hair, (of course) those chocolatey-brown eyes, and having a pretty shy and self-conscious personality around those he doesn't trust or is afraid of, mainly because he was partially raised by Spain and because the other Spain-raised states like picking on him (California, mainly). But, usually, when he's comfortable he's an almost unstoppable ball of America-like energy. He is the Sunshine state, after all.

Feel free to correct me on my Spanish, and please, review!


End file.
